


every little thing that you are

by drownedinadaydream



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Sick Stiles, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4295403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drownedinadaydream/pseuds/drownedinadaydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is sick and stubborn. Cuddles and kisses ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every little thing that you are

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in forever, so here's this disaster. I wasn't going to post but yolo. Anyways, enjoy!
> 
> tumblr: trashstydia

“You take one more step Stiles Stilinski so help me God.” She glares at him across the kitchen counter.

“I thought you were going to class.” He grumbles, rubbing at his eyelids.

“You’re sick.”

“I can take care of myself Lyds.”

“Get back in bed.”

“I said im fi-“ he sneezes before he can get the word out.

“Go. Back. To. Bed.” She emphasizes each word.

“Make me.” He smirks as he cocks his head to the side. What? It’s not his fault there’s a hot strawberry blonde in front of him that beats the looks of any Victoria’s Secret model; he can’t help but try for sexy time every chance he got.

“Stiles, I’m serious you look disgusting. Get in bed.”

“I didn’t look so disgusting last night when you were-“

“Stiles!” Lydia screeches.

“What? Just ameliorating your optimism on this situation Lyds, this disgusting thing you’re looking at right now is beast in bed."

Lydia rolls her eyes at the idiot in front of her that still manages to look pretty even when the cotton confines of his blue shirt is sticking to him due to the sheen layer of perspiration on his skin. “My optimism doesn’t need ameliorating, but your _health_ does. Go to bed.”

Stiles groans as he walks over to the small banshee and wraps his arms around her, while shoving his face into the crook of Lydia’s neck. He tends to do this frequently- she smells like strawberries.

“I’ll go to bed if you come with me.” He mumbles into her skin that is now covered in goose bumps. He loves that he still has that effect on her.

Lydia melts under his embrace. She knows she can never say no to the sarcastic spaz wrapped around her, not that she would ever let him know that. “Stiles, you’re burning up.”

“For you babyy.” He sings back to her in that stupid, Jonas Brothers song.

Lydia sighs and grabs Stiles’ hand while dragging him to his bedroom.

A few minutes later Lydia returns with a bowl of steaming soup, thrusting it in front of Stiles.

Stiles smirks, “You cooked? And the building is still standing?”

“A simple thank you would be perfectly sufficient.” She snaps.

He raises his hands in defeat and grabs the metal spoon dipping it into the hot chicken broth. The next few minutes the two sit in relative silence. The only sounds coming from the clanking of the metal spoon with the bowl and the rustling pages of Lydia’s magazine.

“Lydiaaa.” Stiles whines as he nudges Lydia with his foot. His soup is sitting on the bedside table, cold and forgotten in its sedentary position.

Lydia looks up from her magazine, a smile creeping its way onto her face as she looks at the adorable mess next to her, “Stiles, you’re supposed to be resting.”

“How can I be resting when we’re not cuddling?” He pouts.

Lydia smiles in spite of herself and scoots herself closer to Stiles, until there was no more room for her to scoot, “You’re such a loser when you’re sick.”

Stiles presses his forehead against Lydia’s before pecking her right on the nose. “I’m your loser.” He lets his arm wind around her waist and pulls her closer to him- if it were even possible to be in a closer proximity.

“A loser you kissed on the floor of a dirty locker room, I might add.”

“You were in critical need for help.”

“There are other ways, more effective ways to stop a panic attack, Lyds.”

“Not that I’m complaining though.” He adds.

“Well I stopped it didn’t I? And for your information my method proved to be most effective when concerning you.”

He does that goddamn smirk again, “And what have you concluded?”

She smiles, “That when it comes to me and you, we’re far more superior than any legitimate medical attention.”

“Then come help me get better babe.” He beams as he kisses her softly. And even though he’s disgustingly sick, she’s eager to return it.

They spend the rest of the afternoon cuddling and watching Star Wars because apparently it was a crime that Lydia had not watched the films yet. She doesn’t mind though. After all, he’s _her_ loser.


End file.
